


Thunder in our hearts

by Justasmalltownfangirl



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Depression, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justasmalltownfangirl/pseuds/Justasmalltownfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his suicide attempt Thomas Barrow is more unhappy than ever. He's still stuck at Downton and sees no way out, until a stranger visits the Abbey and things slowly start to change for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'd be cold as a stone

**Author's Note:**

> I did not think I would be writing more Thomas fan fiction, but after the horrendous disaster that was the season finale I just couldn't help myself. So, this is basically me trying to cover up a little of what we all wish we would've been shown in the episode, and writing my own version of the CS. I will repeat some themes and elements I already covered in a previous fic, but it's inevitable considering what's happened.  
> And yes, the title comes from a 'Running Up That Hill' by Placebo, and the chapter titles come from 'People Help The People' by Birdy, because I'm just that creative.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas' supposed recovery and the return of an old face.

Thomas slowly lowered himself into the tub. Again he wondered if he should take off his clothes first, but again he decided against it. He didn't know who would find him, and he didn't want just anyone to see him naked. Whoever would dress him for his funeral would be fine, because it would almost certainly be someone he had never met, but not someone in the house. And then there were the scars after the electrotherapy. He didn't ever want to have to look at them, especially not during his last moments alive. He didn't need to be reminded why he was doing it.

The water rippled. Thomas stared at the ceiling. He had stared at that ceiling for 15 years, but he was done with it now. He couldn't take one more day of staring at that ceiling, never. That was the last time. It wasn't even _his_ ceiling. Downton Abbey wasn't his house, not his home. It was his work place, and it had only been a stepping stone until he could move on. But it had been 15 years and he had never moved on, and he had finally accepted that he never would. But he wouldn't ever have to stare at that ceiling again, he would ensure that.

He was done, he was finished. He was. But somehow, he wasn't  _done,_ didn't feel like he was. He felt like he had forgotten something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. His room was tidy and all his bags packed, they wouldn't have to clean up after him. Not that he cared about them, but he didn't want them to go through all his stuff. It was too private, even if he would be dead. He hadn't written a will, but he knew that and he had never planned on doing it either. He didn't have anything to put in it. All he had was his personal possessions, all his money had been spent on the conversion therapy. And even if he had had something to give he didn't have anyone to give it to. He thought that maybe it was the note that made him feel like something was unfinished. But he had no idea what to write in such a note, or who to give it to. No one would want the note, no one would care for an explanation. If he needed to explain for his own sake then he knew Ms Baxter wouldn't particularly mind getting one, but he had nothing to write whatsoever. And he couldn't very well get up now and run through the corridor with only underclothes, that were also wet all the way through and would drip all over the floor.

He did his left wrist first, made the cut as deep as he could and saw that it bled enough. More than enough, it just kept pouring out of him and mixed with the water. It hurt, it hurt more than he had thought it would. He had thought it would just feel strange and he would be numb, but the pain was immense. He tried to switch hands, but his left could barely grip the razor. When he could finally muster up the strenght to squeeze it the pain became even worse and he had to bite his lip. He almost couldn't lift the hand, so weak was it. He only managed to pierce the skin on his right wrist, he tried to press harder but it was physically impossible. It didn't bleed enough, but he couldn't make it deeper. Instead he went for some more cuts beside it, each one more shallow as his hand gave up more and more. Eventually he lost his grip around the razor completely, and it disappeared under him in the tub.

He tried to lift his head up to look for it, but he couldn't even do that. He didn't have the physical strength and everything started to become blurry. The world was spinning, he thought he was going to be sick. The water was red around him. He could hear his own heart beating loudly, and he just wanted it to stop. Not because it was so loud, but because it kept him alive and he didn't want it to. He didn't want to be alive.

He couldn't feel it coming, but he was sure that his last thought was  _finally._

***

There was no confusion, not once was he uncertain if he was alive or dead. He knew right away that he was still breathing, because he could feel the throbbing pain in his wrists and he could feel his hard, thin mattress under his back. No, he wasn't dead, he wasn't in hell. Unless hell was Downton Abbey and Dr Clarkson was the devil.

Thomas felt exhausted, and he felt drained. But he wasn't disappointed. Did he want to be dead? Not really. He would rather be dead than there, that was for sure. But he didn't really want anything, and that was the thing. He didn't want to be alive or dead, he didn't want to be _anything._ He wanted to be gone and for everything to be over. But he was too tired to get angry or upset, to be anything at all. He wasn't anything, he was indifferent. He was just alive. And he didn't feel anything in particular about it.

Apart from pain. He felt pain in both his wrists, a mean, throbbing pain that caused him to wince and Dr Clarkson to notice him.

He stared at Thomas from above him with the same confused and pityful look on his face that he had had when Baxter had dragged Thomas to him and he had told him about injections and pills and electrotherapy without looking in his eyes even once.

”You'll be fine”, he said. ”I sew up your left wrist but I didn't have to do it with the cuts on your right, they weren't deep enough.”

Thomas knew they weren't deep enough. If they were deep enough he wouldn't be lying there, then he would be dead.

Suddenly he felt something, he felt worthless. Incompetent, useless and completely worthless. He had failed at everything, he couldn't do anything. He couldn't even kill himself, couldn't even free the world from his presence. All he had had to do was slit his wrists and bleed to death, easy. Edward had managed to do that, and he hadn't been in a bath to make the blood flow faster. He had been blind, for fuck's sake! He hadn't even been able to see the razor, even less his veins, and  _he_ had managed to do it. 

As if he could read his mind, Clarkson looked away and returned to putting his things in his bag.

”You were lucky”, he said. ”Ms Baxter and Andy found you just in time.”

Thomas didn't feel lucky. But he felt a bit relieved, that he wasn't that worthless after all. That he might have succeeded if they hadn't decided to find him. At the same time that raised even more questions. How bloody long had he been bleeding in the bath? How long did it take? He started thinking about Edward again, wondered how long it had taken for him. How long he had been in that much pain. He hadn't deserved that. Thomas had, but not Edward. Edward had been so kind and brave and a much better person than he had ever been. And yet he had died and Thomas hadn't. There was no justice in the world, he was sure of it now.

Clarkson stood there awkwardly after he had closed the bag, then he reached out to touch Thomas, but stopped and hesitated. He pulled back his hand, but still didn't seem sure if he should have. He had no idea what to do, Thomas could see it. He was a bloody doctor, had been one for years, and still he had no idea what to do with a suicidal person. He didn't know whether to comfort him or tell him to cheer up, if he should pat him on the shoulder or leave him alone.

”I-” he said.

He moved his hand again, perhaps reconsidering that shoulder pat. Thomas didn't care for him much, didn't consider him a very good doctor. They had served in the war together and he had saved Robert's life at one point, but then he had also misdiagnosed Matthew Crawley and been just as awkward and confused when Thomas had come there with his syringes a year earlier. The doctor sighed.

”The future might seem dark sometimes”, he said slowly without facing his patient. ”But it always get brighter.”

Thomas didn't believe him. He didn't think things would ever be brighter. They had never been particularly bright for as long as he could remember. And Clarkson didn't understand and never would, that the future didn't seem dark. That wasn't the thing. The thing was that the future didn't seem to be anything at all, because it wasn't there.

***

They wouldn't leave him alone at all. They wouldn't even let him sleep on his own.

”He can lie in my room”, Andy had said. ”I've got an empty bed.”

Carson had looked at him with big eyes, shocked that he had even dared to think the thought, and absolutely repulsed that he actually suggested it out loud and thought that he would do as much as consider it.

”Certainly not!” he had shouted.

”I could do it”, Baxter had piped in.

Carson had grunted. Because _never_ would a man and woman who weren't married to each other sleep in the same room under his roof, not even Thomas Barrow and the woman he saw as his sister.

He had wanted to suggest Molesley or Bates, but he didn't want to tell them. Thomas wouldn't have minded, not really. Part of him was terrified of letting anyone – especially Molesley or Bates – see him that weak or vulnerable. But in a way he wanted to show them, he wanted them to know. He wanted them to see it and realize what they had done to him, them and society. He wanted them to know what they had made him do. And he didn't want Andy to get in trouble with Carson or suspected of more things, and he didn't want him to feel forced to do it and have to sleep in the bed right next to him and be uncomfortable.

”Why don't you do it yourself then?” Andy had sneered at the butler.

Carson had given him a glare. That was the worst option of them all, Thomas realized. That he, Charles Carson, the butler of Downton Abbey, would have to sleep in the same room as  _him,_ Thomas Barrow, the suicidal homosexual.

”Fine then!” he had given up. ”Take him to your room if you must, but be very _careful.”_

They didn't know he was awake. His eyelids were too heavy to lift so they thought he was sleeping and didn't hear.

Thomas didn't know if it was Carson that had said it or if Andy had done it by himself, but he took his pajamas to the bathroom and changed there. Not that Thomas would ever care about a naked Andy Parker, especially not that day. That day he hadn't cared about anything at all.

Andy got in his own bed, pulled up his cover all the way up and turned off his bedside lamp.

”Will you be up long?” he asked.

Thomas was reading, he had been reading all day. He didn't know what else he was supposed to do, really, what was suitable during the circumstances. The 'I slit my own wrists a few hours ago' circumstances. What is a person supposed to do after that? Because he didn't want to do anything, and he had thought that he would never have to do anything again.

Besides, he had worked constantly for 17 years and didn't know what to do with himself when he didn't have anything to do. He couldn't handle too much free time, he went crazy. A person that had tried to kill himself the same day shouldn't have been able to become even more crazy, he knew that, but he would go absolutely mad of boredom. And it was nice to read, he liked to lose himself in the stories and pretend that he was the characters instead of himself. It kept his mind off things. But he still closed up his book, put it on the bedside table and turned off his own lamp.

It wasn't as quiet as he wanted it to be. Thomas hadn't slept in the same room as someone else since Philip, many years earlier. Now he could hear Andy breathing and it was annoying. He wanted it to be quiet, he needed absolute silence to be able to sleep. Especially after the day he had had.

”There was so much blood”, Andy said weakly after a few minutes of silence and breathing.

”And you want to be a farmer”, Thomas replied.

”There's a difference between mud and blood.”

Thomas thought about it. Was there? For him they were the same. If there had ever been a difference it had disappeared during the war, in the trenches of the Somme. To him they had been the same for over ten years.

They wouldn't leave him alone during the day either. Phyllis sat by his bedside every chance she had and just looked at him with a strange sadness in her eyes. She sat there and pitied him and felt sorry for herself because she had found him, and Thomas didn't want her to do it.

”Please”, he begged her. ”Just leave me alone.”

All he wanted to do was read his books and sleep when he felt like it, but she always stayed.

”I was so scared for you”, she would say sometimes.

Thomas didn't believe her, didn't think she had ever been. Why would anyone in the entire world be scared of losing him, especially her? After he had been so awful to absolutely everyone, who was left to be scared? She wasn't supposed to be scared, because he had caused her so much pain and he hadn't even cared. He had caused so many people so much pain, and he had deserved becoming so alone. It was his fault, because he hadn't given anyone a chance to care for him at all. And then he had tried to free them from him and leave them to be happy without him, and he hadn't even been able to do that for them.

He didn't know what to reply when she said things like that. He hadn't planned anything because he hadn't expected to be there still, he had thought he would be long gone and below ground.

”I'm sorry”, he said.

But he wasn't sorry that he had tried to kill himself, because he had done it for them and he knew it wouldn't have hurt her at all. He said it because he was sorry for blackmailing her, bullying her, threatening her, scaring her and making her have panic attacks. And he said it because that was what he wanted Edward to say to him, because he wanted him to be sorry for leaving him behind like that and for killing someone as wonderful as himself.

”I'm sorry”, he repeated as she wept into her hands.

But even worse than sleeping in the same room as Andy and having Baxter at his bedside was when he wanted to be alone more than anything. He tried to take a bath, but he had just started to undress before he heard frantic knocks at the door. He let Andy in and the footman searched the entire room for sharp objects before snorting and grabbing his razors.

”I need to shave”, Thomas said.

”We shave together”, Andy replied.

Then he closed the door and probably stood outside it the entire time.

Because they did shave together, every bloody morning. He tried to sneak up early, but Andy was already waiting by the bathroom door. And then they stood side by side and shaved, and Andy did it so slowly and always missed spots that he didn't notice until after he had dried his face and then had to take even more shaving cream. Thomas wanted to rip the razor from his hands and do it himself, so annoyed was he.

And as Andy probably stood outside, Thomas got in the bathtub where he was supposed to have died and stared at the same old ceiling that he had stared at for 15 years. How many more years would there be? He would never get out of there, he would never stop staring at that ceiling. And the wounds on his wrists started stinging and he started crying.

***

Jimmy Kent came with autumn, with the fleeing birds and the falling leaves, with the cold nights and the rainy days. He didn't even knock on the kitchen door, because he was Jimmy. He let himself in and then he was in the kitchen like he had never even left, and neither Mrs Patmore nor Daisy could get him out before he wanted to leave.

”To what do we owe the pleasure?” the chef snarked at him.

”I'm here to see Thomas”, Jimmy snarked back. ”To introduce him to Amelia.”

The girl at his arm waved to everyone.

”Are you sure that's so wise?” Baxter asked.

”Why wouldn't it be?” Jimmy snorted.

”Golly”, Amelia said and smiled. ”They really don't like you here.”

”Yes”, Jimmy said. ”All but one.”

John Bates gave him a glare. His wife sighed too low for anyone but her to hear.

Then the steps in the staircase, and Andy talking loudly about his reading lessons.

”Really?” another voice replied, sounding as uninterested as can be.

Everyone in the kitchen straightened their backs and got ready, and then Thomas and Andy entered it side by side. Thomas saw him right away, and every ounce of the fake smile that had been on his face disappeared in an instant.

”James”, he said.

Jimmy smiled at him, the smile that always made his heart beat twice as fast.

”Who's this?” Andy asked as he put down the plate on the table.

”Jimmy Kent”, Jimmy said.

Then he stared at Thomas again, and Thomas stared at him. Everyone was holding their breaths. Thomas didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to greet a friend. He hadn't had many, and when he had returned from the war O'Brien had just asked him if he wanted a smoke.

He found a handshake to be appropiate and reached out his hand. Jimmy didn't take it. Instead he wrapped his arms around him, buried his face in his neck and hugged Thomas so tight he almost couldn't breathe.

”It's so good to see you”, he mumbled.

Thomas wasn't used to being physical with anyone in public, in front of prying eyes. It felt risky and wrong and he was stiff and only barely managed to hug Jimmy back before he finally let him go.

”This is Amelia”, Jimmy said and looked to the girl. ”My fiancée.”

Everyone stared at Thomas, everyone waited for him to throw himself at her, claw her eyes out or put his hands around her neck. He didn't blame them, he understood why he thought he would do that.

_Smile,_ he told himself.

He smiled at her.

”Why congratulations”, he said. ”Let's see the ring this bastard gave you!”

Jimmy laughed awkwardly, everyone looked to someone else as if to ask them 'what the hell is going on' with their eyes. Amelia laughed a beautiful laugh and reached out her hand. Thomas took it.

”This can't possibly be real!” he exclaimed.

He was pleased that he sounded just as excited as he pretended to be.

”It's real”, Amelia assured him.

Thomas gasped.

”Did he steal it?” he joked.

”Hey!” Jimmy laughed.

”Oh Jimmy”, Thomas said. ”Not again!”

Every word and every facial expression was carefully chosen, planned and thought through, because what he really wanted to do was scream. Through the entire conversation he wanted to scream, and every time Jimmy and Amelia looked at each other he felt like he was stabbed in the heart. He would never look at someone like that, and no one would ever look at him like that. He would never wear or buy a ring as beautiful as the one belonging to Jimmy's fiancée, the one the person he loved most in the entire world loved more than him.

He didn't want to be there, he wanted to be anywhere but there. He didn't want to hear that Jimmy was working in a record shop or that Amelia was a secretary, he didn't want to know how many apartments they had looked at in London. It was painful, and he wanted out.

He waited for a wedding invitation to turn down, but it never came. All he got was an offer to have dinner at the pub in the village.

”I've got so much work”, he said.

He didn't know what would be worse, having to eat with Jimmy and Amelia together and throughout the entire meal be reminded of what they had that he never would, or having to eat alone with Jimmy and not having anything at all to tell him and instead being able to reach out and touch him or kiss him or do all the other things he wanted to do but never could.

”What a shame”, Jimmy said. ”We're leaving this evening.”

They didn't even say goodbye properly. Thomas said that he and Andy needed to take up milk for the tea, and then they were off again. And Jimmy let himself out, took the train away and got married to his Amelia while Thomas was stuck.

Everyone stared at him, everyone was worried about him. Fragile Thomas, weak Thomas. That might try to off himself if he hears a bad word. He hated being that Thomas and he wanted to tell them to stop looking at him like that and he wanted to tell them that he hadn't tried to kill himself because he was losing his job or because Carson was rude to him. But all he did was grab a can of milk and leave the room.

When he walked up the stairs he didn't know if he wanted to cry or just sit down and never again stand up. But he couldn't do neither, because Andy was right behind him and he would never let him bathe alone again. He would sit at the toilet chair and try to mouth the words in one of those children's books he read while Thomas lied in the tub where he was supposed to have died and stared at the same old ceiling. Day after day, year after year.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, a visitor comes to the Abbey!


	2. A thousand slowly dying sunsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marquess of Hexham comes to Downton Abbey on a visit, and he's brought someone with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't claim any credit whatsoever on this, this pairing and scenario is not at all a creation of me but of the good people of tumblr. I've just taken the liberty to write it down, and I hope no one feels bad over it. If you want me to mention you then please say, because I have no idea who first started talking about this (im)possible storyline but I'd hate to steal it from you.

It was a big deal when they were to entertain the seventh Marquess of Hexham, even when he had been there months earlier and only been an agent, even though he had practically been engaged with one in the family. Bertie's visit was still a big event and caused some commotion and excitement both upstairs and downstairs, especially since the general majority was certain that he was there to win Lady Edith back. The minority that was of a different opinion claimed that he didn't need to win her back as it was he who had left her, but they still believed that they were to get back together during the first weekend, if not day.

The only one who didn't care was the underbutler. Thomas hadn't cared about anything for a very long time. Jimmy's visit had been a rare exception. He wasn't even more down than usual, as was customary for him when love was in the air at the Abbey. He was just indifferent to it, because he was tired of being sad and angry. He was tired of being anything at all.

There was a knock at the kitchen door, and Thomas let in a man that introduced himself as ”Bertie's valet”. He was about as tall as Thomas, but thinner and with thicker brown hair and hazel eyes. He was still brown after all the time spent in the Tangiers, and Thomas didn't even care to tell him to not refer to the Marquess as Bertie.

”Andy”, he said. ”Could you show Mr-”

”Jack”, the valet said. ”That is, Stevens.”

”Stevens”, Thomas decided, ”to his room?”

Andy gave Stevens one look and shook his head.

”I can't, Thomas”, he said. ”I need to take up the tea.”

Thomas would have huffed and puffed and protested loudly, if he had cared enough to do so. But he didn't, so all he did was sigh and sign for Stevens to follow him up the stairs. Stevens was a slow walker, looked at everything and trailed his hand along the wall at some points. Thomas was more than relieved when he finally got him all the way up to the attic and the male servant's bedrooms. He gave him Carson's old room, because it was the nicest they could do and Stevens was employed by a Marquess.

”You'll be sleeping in here then”, Thomas said as he opened the door.

While he waited in the doorway, Stevens stepped in, looked around and wrinkled his nose.

”What's that smell?” he asked.

”What smell?”

Stevens opened up the window even though it was almost December and snow had already set outside.

”It's like _rotten_ ”, he said.

”Really?” Thomas replied, though he couldn't care less.

Back when he had first started he hadn't liked the smell of the bedrooms either. Dust and mold, that's what he had thought they smelled like. It didn't care how much he had cleaned during his first week, it was in the walls and it wouldn't go away. But he had grown used to it, couldn't feel it anymore. He supposed none of them could, but every new person must be absolutely disgusted with it.

”Christ”, Stevens said.

He trailed a gloved hand along the mattress.

”Well, this is thin”, he stated.

Thomas sighed. Stevens was a snob, and he didn't care much for snobs.

”Did I get the worst room?” the snob asked jokingly and looked directly at him.

”The best one”, Thomas muttered.

They stared at each other for a moment.

”Remember that when you meet Mr Carson your name is Stevens”, Thomas said to break the silence.

”Are you so strict with the rules here?” Stevens smiled. ”The footman called you Thomas, didn't he?”

”That's because-”

_Once he dragged me out of a tub when I was bleeding to death in it after cutting my own wrists._

”Carson wasn't around”, Thomas said instead. ”He's the butler.”

Stevens nodded.

”Alright then”, he said.

Thomas closed the door and before he left he could hear the valet cough on the other side.

”Christ”, he said again.

_Christ indeed,_ Thomas thought.  _Welcome to Downton._

***

Stevens was a massive hit downstairs. All the maids looked like they were about to faint when he smiled at them, and not even Andy could help himself but to ask him questions constantly, even though Daisy stared at him every chance she got and it was more than a little obvious that the footman fancied her.

”Great”, Carson told Mrs Hughes under his breath. ”A new Mr Green.”

But unlike Mr Green, Jack Stevens didn't appear to enjoy the attention. He seemed a bit awkward as all the women and Andy stared at him during dinner, and he tried to ask questions about Downton instead of answering the ones everyone asked him.

”Oh, Christ”, Anna giggled. ”Downton must be awfully boring after Tangiers.”

She was heavily pregnant and happily married, but not even she could help but be intrigued by him. The only one who wasn't was Thomas, who ate his food in silence and only looked up when he absolutely needed to.

”No”, Stevens laughed. ”I think it's quite nice, if a bit colder.”

Multiple people broke out laughing, because everything he said was so funny.

”So you were employed by the former Marquess?” John Bates asked.

Stevens took a sip of his drink and nodded.

”Why was it that the new one kept you?” Bates continued.

”Bertie?” Stevens said. ”Oh, he knew Peter wouldn't like to see me thrown out into the cold, so he kept me on.”

”Do you refer to all your employers by their first name?” Carson asked disapprovingly from his end of the table.

”It's quite difficult to keep them apart any other way, isn't it?” Stevens laughed. ”I can't very well call them both neither Marquess nor Hexham, can I?”

Carson looked like he still disapproved, but reluctantly accepted the explanation.

”You must have been awfully close then”, Baxter said. ”If he would keep you on, and you can call them their first names.”

Stevens' smile looked even more forced and he looked down at the table.

”Yes”, he replied. ”Quite close.”

”Is that so?” Carson asked with his characteristic eyebrow raise of disapproval.

Stevens stared at him while all the others looked down at their plates and pretended that the comment hadn't gone unnoticed by just Thomas.

”Does the Marquess have a big staff?” Baxter eventually asked.

Stevens gave her a smile of relief.

”God no”, he said. ”He has a chef, some maids and a gardener, but I'm the only one who lives there, at least until he's found a butler.”

”Oh my”, Mrs Hughes commented. ”The world _is_ changing.”

Thomas thought about that. The world was changing, and work was disappearing. But his world never changed, not one bit. He was stuck in the same place and would never get out, he trapped with the same people and the same hate. He would always be who he was, and they would always think the same way about him. He sighed.

And suddenly people were looking at him, and he realized that he had done it too loudly.

”What is it, Mr Barrow?” Andy asked. ”What do you think?”

Thomas swallowed the food in his mouth.

”I think”, he said, ”that it can't come soon enough.”

”I quite agree”, Stevens proclaimed.

He smiled at the grumpy underbutler but got nothing back. Thomas was already back to wishing he was somewhere else.

***

Thomas had started sneaking off to smoke even more than usual, both to escape the boredom and the pitying looks. His smokes were the only parts of his days that were somewhat bearable. They were lonely, quiet and filled with nicotine. Apart from the time when Stevens the valet suddenly decided to join him. He lit a Moroccan cigarette and insisted that it must be so boring for him to smoke by himself.

”I suppose I'm used to it”, Thomas muttered.

But the last thing he wanted was for Stevens to start asking why that would be, because he hated the look people got on their faces when they realized what he was. How disappointed they became, how their entire image of him changed completely and how they would never look at him the same way. Even with people he would most likely never meet again and shouldn't care the least about, it always affected him.

”I might have to become used to it too I guess”, Stevens laughed. ”Depending on what butler I'll get.”

”I'm sure he'll be fine”, Thomas assured him.

He found it oddly simple to have conversation with Stevens, even if he was snobby and his cigarettes smelled differently.

”It's bloody freezing”, Stevens complained and put an arm around himself.

”A long way from Tangiers”, Thomas noted.

Stevens laughed.

”Indeed it is.”

Thomas looked out at the snow covered back yard where he had smoked for 15 years, and he wished he was in Tangiers instead of there. He wished he was anywhere instead of there.

”Do you ever miss it?” he asked. ”Do you ever want to go back?”

Stevens smiled to himself but got a sudden sadness in his eyes.

”All the time”, he replied seriously.

Then he stomped his feet and tried to laugh it off.

”At least the more comfortable bed”, he added.

Thomas smiled despite the snobbiness.

”Don't forget the smell”, he joked.

”God, don't get me started on the smell!”

They both laughed. Stevens put out his cigarette and dropped it on the ground but made no sign of going back inside, just wrapped his new free arm around the other.

”I still don't believe that it's the nicest room”, he said.

He was handsome, Thomas realized. Not in the same way as Jimmy, who had all the women turning their heads by the very first day. It was more of a beauty that grew on you, the more you looked at his features and saw how well they fit together, and even more as you heard his laugh and saw his smile. He wouldn't be a star in a movie, but Thomas could stare at him for ages.

”Well, you haven't seen mine”, he smirked.

”Who knows”, Stevens said. ”I might get the opportunity.”

Before Kemal Pamuk and Jimmy Kent, Thomas had thought himself to be very good at distinguishing innocent comments from suggestive ones. But he wasn't young and fearless anymore, and he had been too close a few times too many. He had learned that even when he thought something meant something, it most certainly didn't. And he just smiled politely and changed the subject.

”What do you reckon?” he asked. ”About them?”

”Bertie and Lady Edith? I think they'll be engaged before this day is over.”

”Really?”

”Definitely”, Stevens said. ”He hasn't gotten her out of his head, he's been on about her constantly. I've never seen him like this.”

”Isn't that nice.”

Thomas didn't even lie. He was past getting jealous and bitter that he couldn't have something like that, it had never gotten him anywhere. He preferred to be happy for those who could. Well, at least to tell himself that he was.

”I was the one that convinced him, y'know”, Stevens suddenly said. ”He was scared, but I told him that you have to take chances when it comes to love.”

_Wouldn't I know,_ Thomas thought bitterly.

”And he listened to you?” he asked. ”The valet?”

Stevens laughed.

”Well, _he_ was an agent”, he said.

Thomas put out his cigarette and prepared to return to the real world, a world where agents don't become Marqusses and gentlemen don't listen to their valets when it comes to racing across the country to propose to their one true love. The real world, where that just doesn't happen.

”It's strange”, he said.

”Life is strange”, Stevens agreed.

***

It was the day of Edith and Bertie's re-engagement and the day before the Marquess would leave Downton and return to Brancaster. Thomas and Andy were – like every evening after all the others had gone to their respective cottages or bedrooms – sat by the table in the servant's hall. Andy read one of his simple children's books and sometimes asked Thomas for help with a word he couldn't make sense of, while the latter laid solitaire with his cards. He often did that, now that he had no one else to play with.

”What does this mean?” Andy asked and held up his book for Thomas to see.

”How's it spelled?” he replied without raising his eyes

He thought it was important that Andy learned the letters and how to use them, and not only certain words. The footman furrowed his brows and stared at the word.

”A-P-P”, he started, then he took a few seconds to remember what the next one was called. ”L-E.”

”Do you hear it?” Thomas asked, still looking down at his cards and laying his solitaire.

Andy whispered the letters to himself twice.

”Apple!” he exclaimed proudly.

Then Stevens walked in, with a lighter and a box of those foreign cigarettes in his hands.

”My”, he said. ”I hope I'm not interrupting.”

”No!” Andy almost shouted, then caught himself and closed up his book. ”I'm just about to go up.”

He stood up abruptly and picked up the book.

”Goodnight, Mr Stevens”, he said as he pushed the chair back in and started walking towards the door. ”Goodnight, Mr Barrow.”

”Goodnight, Andy”, Thomas replied.

His voice was just as strangely hollow as it had been for months, and he hadn't once looked up from his solitaire.

Stevens pulled out the chair next to his and sat down as they heard Andy ascend the stairs. He was walking awfully quick, almost running. Stevens chuckled.

”Good lad”, the valet commented.

”He is”, Thomas agreed.

Stevens leaned back and lit up a cigarette that he placed between his fingers before he brought it to his mouth. Thomas found that he didn't really mind the smell anymore, or his company. He had a tendency to always feel watched and judged while in the same room as other people, but not with Stevens. He was completely fine and relaxed, and Stevens sometimes commented on a move or pointed at a certain card.

”Peter used to do that”, he told him. ”I've always thought it's a posh game.”

Thomas couldn't help but to scoff a bit.

”You're one to speak!” he said.

”What's that supposed to mean?” Stevens laughed and tried to look offended.

”You complain on the mattresses and only smoke Moroccan cigarettes!”

Stevens laughed, but then he went quiet and only smiled.

”Peter used to buy these too”, he said and waved his Moroccan cigarette.

Thomas tried a compassionate smile.

”It must've been difficult when he died”, he commented. ”If you were that close.”

”It was”, Stevens' smile died down for just a second before he brought it back on. ”I miss him every day.”

He lowered his eyes and drummed his fingers against the table. Thomas stopped laying solitaire. For a few seconds it was quiet.

”Because he wasn't just my employer, you know?” Stevens said quietly.

”I know”, Thomas replied.

Because at that point there was no doubt in his mind, not anymore. There was nothing else that could mean, he was completely certain. Stevens took another puff of his cigarette.

”I'm sorry.”

”Don't worry”, Stevens joked and looked up at him again. ”I'm not gonna start crying.”

Thomas didn't laugh.

”How did you know?” he asked. ”How did you know what I'm like?”

Stevens shrugged his shoulders.

”I just had the feeling”, he replied. ”And then I talked to Andy, and he said that you're not actually that stern. So I asked why people still tend to avoid you, and he said that it's because you are 'a certain way'.”

Thomas snorted, because it was such an Andy thing to say.

”He's not so dumb”, Stevens noted.

”I know”, Thomas agreed.

He was glad Andy had told Stevens. If he hadn't he probably wouldn't have found out, and Thomas would never have realized it himself. He stared at his cards.

He looked back up at Stevens, they looked at each other. And they both smiled. And Thomas knew he was too old to be having butterflies in his stomach, but he still felt something in there.

”Do you mind if I-” Stevens stopped mid sentence.

”Not at all.”

Stevens leaned forwards and kissed him, his cigarette still in his hand. Thomas kissed him back and he tasted exactly like that strange smell. But he didn't mind, and he kissed him harder and moved closer towards him. Because he hadn't been with anyone in a long time and he was sick of being alone, and he didn't even want to lay solitaire anyway.

***

It was strange how fast everything went back to normal, how few days Thomas smiled to himself at the breakfast table, how little time it took for him to forget the kiss that Stevens had placed on his cheek by the front door before they had to part, and how he had looked back at him as the cars drove off and Thomas hadn't even been able to wave him goodbye.

The stairs and the corridor in the attic would always be the stairs and corridor where they had ran hand in hand while laughing and giggling, and the door to Carson's old room would always be the door Thomas had closed behind them before they had gone stopped laughing and giggling and started doing something entirely different altogether, but at the same time they also went back to being the same old boring scenery that they had been for 15 years and would be for many years to come. Slowly Thomas' smile and Andy's teasing comments died down, and he became increasingly aware that nothing had or would change just because he had spent one night with another man. A wonderful man for sure, but still one he didn't even know and wasn't likely to encounter a lot in the future.

Thomas decided to if not forget it, then at least not think about it. It did him no good to do it, and he had never made a habit of reminiscing about past lovers. There was no use, and he didn't see a point in it. He could miss them for a while, he allowed himself that. But that was if he had loved them. He had loved Philip and Jimmy, even Edward. Not Stevens the valet, who he had spoken to around five times and slept with once. But he had been the first one in a very long time, and possibly the last, and he had such a wonderful smile.

Thomas wished he could talk to someone, like everyone else seemed to be able to do. But there was no one. The closest he had to friends were Andy, Baxter and George. But he didn't want to make Andy uncomfortable, Baxter would never understand, and George, well, George was six. Thomas wasn't used to asking for help, and suddenly everyone seemed to be busy with their own lives. Baxter and Molesley were officially courting, as were Andy and Daisy. They spent half their time on the farm, and he was sure Mrs Patmore had a soft side for Mr Mason. Anna had always been kind to Thomas, but she was pregnant and not to be bothered with his troubles. He had tried to kill himself, yet there was no one. What had been gigantic and life changing for him had been merely a minor disturbance in their perfect lives and they had forgotten all about it.

Thomas scratched his scars unconsciously. They opened up and started bleeding. He knew he had promised Baxter and Andy that he wouldn't ever do it again, and he wasn't planning to either. But he couldn't help being so tired, of his life, of Downton, of the world, of living. Sometimes he went to bed thinking that if he would bleed out before he woke up, he wouldn't really mind. Everything was like it had always been, boring and not for him. He was living in a world created for everyone but him, and he was trapped in a house with stinking walls and a job that bored him half to death. Literally. He had, after all, slit his own wrists.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens next? Only time will tell...  
> (Like seriously, I'm sorry if it takes a while)  
> (But it is coming) (Sometime)


	3. Behind the tears, inside the lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changed plans for the wedding sets bigger things in motion.

If miracles exist, that was one. Thomas was sure of it. He had never believed in them, but what else could it be? Because even though Anna had months to go she was starting to get tired and more than anything wimsy and confused. Her husband downright refused to leave her side, wouldn't let her be alone even to walk to the cottage, even less for several days as he went to Brancaster. She had originally been supposed to go with Lady Mary there, but that had fallen on Baxter after she had used shoe polish on one of Mary's finest dresses. Everyone was sympathetic of course, because she did have a human inside of her, but Mary didn't dare take the risk to look even a tiny bit shabby on her sister's wedding. And suddenly everything had to change, because Bates wouldn't go without Anna.

It fell on Thomas to accompany his lordship. He knew they had thought about asking Carson, because he was still poor, fragile, weak Thomas, but Carson was dubious about leaving Downton in the care of his wife. He liked to be in charge, and Thomas had been Robert's valet and filled in for Bates before. Thomas didn't complain one bit when they asked him, he didn't even have to think about it. On the contrary, he had to contain his excitement. Because he wanted nothing more than to get away from Downton for at least a few days, especially if it meant he could meet Stevens again.

He almost couldn't sleep the night before they left. He must have been just as excited as Lady Edith, and she was the one getting married. He just couldn't get it out of his head that he was actually leaving, that he was actually going to see something other than Downton, that things were going to be different. Even only a few days was enough, because it would be a few days in which his life wasn't unbearable, in which he would get to think about something else, in which he would stare at a different ceiling while lying in the bath.

He walked around the restaurant cart of the train like an impatient tiger in a cage. He saw a world in snow flash by outside the windows, saw Downton disappear behind him, and chose not to think about the fact that he would have to return. The wedding would be on the day before Christmas and it was the 20th, so he would only have five days at Brancaster. All those days would – as much as possible – be spent with Stevens, because he wasn't coming with them on the honeymoon.

”You're excited”, Baxter commented over her sandwhich.

”Am I?” Thomas muttered under his breath.

He couldn't eat, he was too wound up and thought he would throw up. Baxter smiled.

”I don't think I've ever seen you like this”, she said. ”Especially not during the last year.”

And it was weird, because Thomas hadn't ever felt like that before either.

”It's nice to get away sometimes, isn't it?” he said.

She raised a brow, like she knew. And she probably did, but Thomas didn't mind. He found himself unable to mind about anything at all.

***

Thomas' heart was beating too fast and his smile was too big, but no one noticed. When they finally met all they could do was shake hands and say ”Mr Stevens” and ”Mr Barrow”, but only hours later they lay newly dressed, side by side in Steven's too big servant's bed and everything was the way it was supposed to be.

”I think I see why you didn't like your room at Downton”, Thomas chuckled.

He was smoking a cigarette and Stevens was smoking one of his Moroccan ones. Their shoulders touched and his foot was placed against Thomas'. His room was bigger, lighter, cleaner and less smelly than any of the servant's rooms at Downton. Thomas was content in there, which wasn't a common feeling for him. He didn't know if it was the big bed, the thick mattress or the fact that Stevens was lying beside him, but he was smiling all on his own and he hadn't done that a lot since Jimmy had left.

”A rat stole my handkerchief”, Stevens said.

Thomas laughed at him.

”It was a rat!” Stevens protested, before he started laughing himself. ”I didn't lose it, it was _gone_!”

”I've lived there for 15 years”, Thomas said, ”and no rat has ever stolen my handkerchief.”

”But you have to agree that the conditions are awful.”

Thomas thought about it. He didn't think they were, not really. But then he had gotten used to it all and he didn't know much else. Except for the trenches, and the conditions there were even worse. Still, he was in service. The conditions for servants aren't as good as for the families they work for, why would they be? The way he saw it was that there were no other options.

”Maybe for you”, he teased. ”Because you haven't spent much time in servant's quarters at all, have you?”

Stevens rolled his eyes.

”I wasn't born in this room though”, he said. ”I wasn't very wealthy.”

”Me neither”, Thomas replied.

He suddenly felt a want to tell him things, and to have him tell him things back. Because he didn't want him to be Stevens the valet anymore, he wanted him to be Jack, his Jack.

”My dad was a clockmaker”, Thomas said. ”What'd yours do?”

Stevens snorted.

”Wouldn't know”, he muttered. ”Never met him.”

”How come?” Thomas asked. ”Is he dead?”

”I have no idea. I'm a bastard, he got me mum pregnant and she never saw him again.”

Thomas knew it was a thing to be upset about, even though he would much rather have been a bastard than have his father. If he had left before Thomas had been born then he would never have been able to yell at him, hit him and throw him out.

”I'm sorry”, he said anyway.

He wanted to be supportive and make Stevens smile again, but what on earth was he supposed to say?

”You do know that miss Marigold's-”

”Lady Edith's daughter?” Stevens finished. ”Of course I do, Bertie's told me.”

He poked at Thomas' shoulder and smiled.

”Question is, why do you know?”

”It was a bit obvious”, Thomas said. ”And she looks just like her father.”

”Do you think I look like my father?”

Stevens straightened his back and looked at Thomas. He tried to imagine him at least 20 years older, but couldn't. He couldn't see him as pale, wrinkly and old.

”No”, Thomas replied. ”He couldn't possibly be as handsome.”

Stevens grinned and Thomas kissed him softly at the lips. They resumed their old positions and took more puffs of their cigarettes.

”Me mum's dead though”, the valet said after a few seconds of silence. ”She died during the war when I was 15, someone stabbed her to death for her rations.”

”I'm sorry.”

He didn't look at Thomas when he spoke, but Thomas looked at him. Because suddenly he couldn't get enough, of him or the strange taste of his cigarettes.

”It's fine”, Stevens said. ”But I was in a bad place. I had to start supporting myself, and it didn't go well. I took all odd jobs I could get, but sometimes I had to do other things. For men. All sorts of things really, anything they wanted, anything they liked. I just needed to eat.”

Imagining him small and vulnerable was almost as hard as imagining him old and wrinkly, and Thomas couldn't do it.

”But then one day, Peter walked into the pub”, Stevens smiled. ”And he told me that he wouldn't pay for anything, because he didn't want to do anything if I didn't. He started coming in regularly and we talked about absolutely everything, and one day he just said that he needed a valet and that was that.”

And he chuckled a bit.

”It was eight years ago, he wasn't even supposed to be the Marquess then”, he said. ”He just read lousy poetry, travelled from time to time, painted, rode his horses, even played a bit of piano if you can believe it. But then his brother died, so when his father followed a few years later Peter suddenly had a title. And he had all sorts of responsibilites, and he needed to get married and have children. But all he wanted to do was be in Tangiers with me, and paint and read his lousy poetry.”

He was quiet for a few seconds.

”He told me once that he didn't want to go back”, he whispered. ”Does it make me a bad person that I'm glad he never had to?”

Thomas shook his head, because he of all people would know. Because he was a bad person, but he could tell that Stevens was one of the best.

”No”, he said. ”You're not a bad person.”

Stevens looked at him for a second and smiled.

”Did you love him?” Thomas asked.

”I did, rather.”

And Stevens was still smiling but only with his mouth.

”No one's ever been as kind to me as he was”, he said. Then he leaned against Thomas and placed his head on his shoulder. ”Until you came along.”

Thomas felt bad that he didn't know that he wasn't actually kind, that he had no idea what an awful person he actually was. But he didn't want to tell him, he didn't want to ruin everything. He wanted to stay in his bed with his head on his shoulder and the smoke from his cigarette clouding the room.

”This is me last one”, Stevens said.

Thomas wanted to stay there forever, he didn't ever want to have to leave. He wanted to stay in that smoky room on that unmade bed with Stevens' head on his shoulder, he wanted to stay there forever.

”Do you have to go to Morocco and buy new ones?” he asked.

”No”, Stevens replied.

He sunk lower onto Thomas and closed his eyes.

”I'll be fine”, he said. ”I think we'll all be fine.”

Thomas wanted to believe him, he wanted to believe that miracles exist. But it was hard when he had never actually experienced any.

***

One night Stevens gripped Thomas' wrists and held them, and trailed his fingers along the scars even though it was dark and he couldn't see them.

”You didn't think I'd noticed?” he asked.

Thomas knew he was supposed to be getting out just about now, put on his clothes and leave. He was starting to get tired and it became more and more of a challenge to keep his eyes open. There were temporary footmen hired for the wedding sleeping in the rooms around them and it was best if he didn't have to sneak out in the morning when anyone could see it. But he didn't want to leave, especially not when Stevens held his wrists like that and he could tell him absolutely everything and be comforted for the first time in his life. He imagined that it would feel great.

”No”, he whispered. ”I didn't think you had.”

Stevens placed his forehead on Thomas' and gripped tighter around his wrists.

”Why?” he asked.

But Thomas couldn't get the words out, they were stuck in his throat and his mouth wouldn't open.

”I don't know”, he whispered.

A tear rolled down his cheek, because it was too early to tell Stevens absolutely everything and it was too late to be comforted.

”You're not happy there”, Stevens said. ”These aren't happy marks.”

Thomas snivelled. Like a child, like a big manchild. But he couldn't help it.

”Oh, Thomas”, Stevens said.

He let go of his wrists and wrapped his arms around him. Thomas buried his face in his shoulder and cried into it. Stevens held him tight and rocked a little back and forth.

”Why don't you just get out of there?” he asked. ”Why don't you just leave and make a life of yourself?”

”Because I can't”, Thomas answered between cries. ”Because every time I try I end up coming back. That was the last try.”

He gasped for air.

”That was the last try”, he repeated.

Stevens hugged him tighter.

”I'm so sorry”, he said. ”I'm so sorry.”

”I don't get anywhere!” Thomas almost screamed. ”I try so hard but I'm stuck! I just fight and fight but I'm-”

His voice broke as he just continued to cry.

”I'm so tired of fighting”, he whispered. ”I can't do it anymore.”

The valet's grip around him tightened even more. Thomas couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All he could do was cry and cry and cry, and he felt silly and ridiculous and he knew he was spoiling everything, but he couldn't help it. Because someone had asked, someone wanted to know, someone cared. He wasn't used to people caring about him.

”From now on I'll do all the fighting for you”, Stevens promised him.

But Thomas only cried even more, because he knew he couldn't. He was leaving in only days, he was going and he was never coming back. He didn't want to leave, he didn't want to leave him. He wanted someone to hold him like that forever, and he wanted to cry until he was all out of tears. He didn't want to go back to fighting, he couldn't go back to fighting. He couldn't fight anymore.

”I promise”, Stevens said.

Thomas didn't even call him Jack. And he knew he would have to break that promise, he didn't understand why he had even made it in the first place. He wanted to believe him, but he couldn't.

”They don't deserve you”, Stevens told him.

”And you do?” Thomas asked in the midst of his crying.

”I actually think I do”, Stevens grinned. ”But then I am a snob, and only the best is good enough.”

At that point Thomas didn't know if he was laughing or crying anymore.

”I've never called you a snob”, he said.

And Stevens chuckled.

”Bollocks, I'm found out”, he whispered. ”I'm also a psychic.”

And Thomas knew he was both laughing and crying at the same time.

***

Jack had thought about it, ever since he had first returned from Downton really. He had considered it, he had played with the idea. It had crossed his mind. It had never been impossible, not to him. He had only been a bit scared, afraid of taking the step and not being able to turn back. He had never liked big decisions, and they had never been his to make. Peter had said ”give me a penny and I'll buy that puppy”, Peter had said ”let's go to Tangiers”, Peter had said ”stay at Brancaster and work for Bertie and everything will be fine”. Jack had given him that penny, said ”okay” and nodded. But Peter was gone, and it was his turn to make the decisions. And he had never been so sure of anything, never been so determined, as he was after the night when Thomas had cried himself to sleep on his shoulder.

What he was that sure of was that someone as wonderful as Thomas shouldn't ever have to live like that, shouldn't have those sort of scars. Jack had seen the servant's rooms at Downton and found them disgusting, but he had also seen the looks everyone gave the underbutler and the way they shied away from him. No one deserved to be treated like that, especially not Thomas, _his_ Thomas. Not as long as he existed and would try everything to get him out.

He ran it by Bertie as he was putting on his jacket the day before his wedding.

”You see, he's really not happy there”, Jack said. ”I don't think it's fair, that's all.”

”And you want me to what?” Bertie asked. ”Hire him as butler?”

”He is very good at his job and more than qualified”, Jack pointed out as he brushed his shoulders.

”But I was thinking of giving you the position”, Bertie said. ”I don't really need a valet.”

”Well, you're stuck with one now”, Jack replied. ”Because I have never even served at a table in my entire life.”

He knew Bertie wouldn't ever fire him, not as close as he had been with Peter, not as close as he had been with Jack too. And he didn't, he just rolled his eyes. Jack straightened out his jacket and took a deep breath.

”I like him”, he said. ”I _really_ like him.”

”Oh”, Bertie said as it struck him.

They were both silent for a few seconds.

”I understand”, the Marquess began eventually. ”But what happens if you stop liking him? Wouldn't it be... awkward? Because I won't just fire him, I can't do that.”

Jack had thought about that too, but he didn't think that would ever happen. He didn't think that what he felt for Thomas, whatever it was, was something that could pass.

”What about taking chances in love?” he said.

”It was 'really like' just seconds ago”, Bertie scoffed. ”But it's love now?”

Jack thought about it for a few seconds. He didn't know yet, but he was getting more sure with every day.

”Maybe.”

Bertie sighed.

Then the door opened, and his fiancée stepped in.

”I'm sorry”, Edith said. ”I didn't realize you weren't done.”

”We are done”, Bertie answered her. ”We were just discussing.”

”Discussing what?”

”Hiring Barrow as butler.”

She appeared to think about it and nodded her head a bit.

”Will you?” she asked.

Bertie shrugged his shoulders.

”Stevens wants me to”, he said. ”I'm not so sure.”

Edith looked at Jack. Did she know? Yes, she knew. Not because of the look she gave him, but because he knew Bertie. And he would have told her everything.

”Did you know he saved me out of a fire once?” she asked her fiancé.

”Did he really?” Jack chimed in.

It was one of those things he did that he really shouldn't do, because he was a valet and a servant, but one of those habits he had after all his years as Peter's valet and no actual experience of being one for real for anyone but Berite. But Edith didn't seem to mind.

”He did”, she replied. ”Jumped right through it and carried me with him, risked his own life.”

Jack smiled. It didn't surprise him at all. It was exactly a thing that his Thomas would do.

”I do think I owe him something”, Edith said.

Bertie just nodded. Jack smiled. And like that, it was settled.

***

Stevens stopped him in the corridor, grabbed him by the wrists and stared into his eyes. He was smiling so big that Thomas knew something had happened. Something good.

”You know you wanted to get out?” the valet asked.

And Thomas nodded, because he was the only person he had ever told and he would never forget about it. And Stevens just smiled and smiled, and he was almost shaking with excitement.

”What if I get you out?” he said.

If Thomas saw that smile just a few more times he would fall in love with him, and he knew it but there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he wanted to do about it.

”I would love you until the end of time.”

Had Thomas ever made anyone blush? He didn't think so, not even Daisy. No one except Jack Stevens.

”Christ”, he said. ”Then I very well might.”

”Might what?” Thomas asked.

Stevens hit him lightly on the arm like he was being silly, and grinned even bigger.

”Get you out”, he clarified. ”Then I very well might get you out.”

***

”For auld lang syne”, they sing. ”For auld lang syne.”

The servant's hall is only lit up by the candles on the table. The servants are placed around it in their chairs and there is excitement in the air. It's New Year's Eve and the last day of 1925.

”We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne!”

Thomas is sitting in the same chair that has been his for most of his dinners for the last 15 years. But that night is the last, in that chair, at that table, at Downton. The very next day he is leaving, and he is never coming back.

”We twa hae run about the braes, and pu'd the gowans fine”, they sing. ”But we've wander'd mony a weary foot, sin' auld lang syne.”

Anna puts her head on her husband's shoulder, and Mrs Hughes looks at her own with adoration in her eyes. Baxter and Molesley are holding hands, thinking that no one is noticing, and Andy gives Daisy a shy smile across the table. But it's fine, Thomas has no jealousy left in his heart.

”We twa hae paidl't in the burn, frae morning sun till dine.”

And he smiles.

”But seas between us braid hae roar'd, sin' auld lang syne.”

His bags are packed, and even with the clocks there are only two. Two bags, in which the last 15 years of his life fit. And when he leaves, after 15 years of service, there will be no big goodbyes. Baxter will hug him, and Andy might go as far as to shake his hand. Some will smile at him over the table and lie and say that they wish him good luck, but most won't even do that much. Thomas doesn't mind though, it doesn't bother him anymore.

”And there's a hand, my trusty fiere.”

The next day he will leave, he will leave Downton and that life behind him.

”And gie's a hand o'thine”, they sing. ”And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught.”

He will only be a butler, he will still be in service. It's not the dream, it wasn't the plan he had made when he was young. But he doesn't really care anymore. Because he will have Marigold to play with, he will be free from Carson, and he and Stevens will share a room as the only servants living at the castle and no one will bat an eye. And maybe that was everything Thomas really needed, because for the first time in very long, he can see a future. And he looks forward to it.

”For auld lang syne!” they sing.

It's the last day of 1925, and the day after is the first of 1926. It's a day that is long overdue, because it's also the day Thomas will leave Downton, the day he will start his position as butler at Brancaster Castlet. It's the day he finally gets away and he can't wait.

Because after his few days at Brancaster, he knows that he can be happy and isn't immune to the feeling. He knows he is capable of feeling happiness, and he is almost certain that he will.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose that was it then. Thank you for reading, and especially for commenting. You and your comments have meant absolutely everything and I'm very grateful!


End file.
